Kid Gloves
by Seriously Sam
Summary: Dean woke John up in the middle of the night saying Sam couldn't breathe. By the time John got to the room, Sammy was motionless on the bed and tinted blue.
1. Flesh and Blood

Title - Kid Gloves

Summary - Dean woke John up in the middle of the night saying Sam couldn't breathe. By the time John got to the room, Sammy was motionless on the bed and tinted blue.

_Part of __**The Dark Horse**__ series_

**"Kid Gloves"**

**"Chapter One: Flesh and Blood"**

John never thought it was _that_ serious. He assumed it was croup, because Dean had croup when he was three. It was the same husky, hoarse, bark-like cough. It was the same fever. It got worse at night and caused the kid to be miserable. He was _positive_ it was croup.

Then one night, after Sammy's wheezy cough got progressively worse, Dean came running into the room scared out of his wits. Dean - his brave and strong nine-year-old was reduced to tears as he shook his father awake with fervor. Sam couldn't breathe. He was gasping for breath and could not breathe. The words didn't seem to register in John's mind.

By the time John stumbled out of bed and dashed down the hallway, Sam was motionless with his head lolled off the side of the bed. Sammy was never still. The kid wiggled and twisted nearly nonstop. He could never sit still for long periods of him without moving unless he was being held or cuddled by his father or his brother.

His chest was not moving rhythmically up and down, and his pulse was weak. The next several minutes were hazy. John couldn't remember screaming at Dean to call 911. He vaguely remembered shifting Sammy so his left hand rested the boy's blue tinted forehead to open his airway. In a foggy blur, he could remember straddling his son to keep the airway open while performing CPR with his right hand. He could remember giving his son mouth-to-mouth but the boy remained still. The motions seemed to go on forever.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. _Breathe, Sammy, dammit. _Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

He vaguely registered Dean at his side talking fast to a 911 operator on the phone. His words were a mere murmur in his ears as he focused all of his energy onto his youngest son. Never in his life had he been so scared. He'd survived 'Nam, lost his wife, started a new life from scratch, battled everything supernatural, but losing one of his boys was unbearable. There was no way he could come back from that.

The fear clenched his stomach and worked its way to his throat. It felt like his insides were being twisted around in the cruelest of ways. He felt as though a parasite had invaded his body and slowly started to poison his heart. Then, Sammy began to cough. John let out a small laugh of relief as he scooped his son up in his arms.

"Shh, Sammy, it's okay."

He rubbed the child's back and neck. The coughs continued, and John was so afraid the kid would stop breathing again. After several agonizing minutes of trying to ease Sammy's coughing spell, the paramedics arrived. Dean scampered out of the room and reappeared with two medics. They had to pry the small boy out of his father's arms just to take a look at him. Sam coughed violently as he reached for his father. John took his hand into his. There wasn't a chance in hell he was letting go.

John didn't exactly remember what he told the paramedics. He didn't remember grabbing his leather jacket and clambering in the ambulance with Dean behind him. He _could _remember the medics trying to keep Dean out of the ambulance, to try to convince John to drive behind them. Sammy's red face covered in tear tracks mixed with his hiccups and coughs would not allow that. They needed to be together. They needed to be a _family_.

Then they sat in the hospital waiting room together. John and Dean waited impatiently for news on their ray of sunshine. Sammy was the beacon in their dark lives. No matter what happened, no matter the situation, Sam could always make his family smile and laugh. The little boy who had been rushed away to be hooked up to machines and assessed was the only reason their family was still together. After Mary died, John and Dean were in the darkest of places. If it wasn't for that tiny boy, John doubted that they would have survived.

John drank himself into the hospital after that night. For a week straight, he was so intoxicated that he couldn't even move. He locked himself up in a room in his friend's house with endless bottles of the strongest alcohol. He got alcohol poisoning and passed out on the floor. Dean had been the on that found him unconscious in a pool of his own vomit.

Dean didn't talk for nearly a year after his mother died. Everything he had known was taken away from him in the nastiest of ways. He had no mother and his father was a good for nothing drunk. He had a baby brother who needed to be cared for. He didn't trust his parents' friends. Even after John started to put his life together, to put _their_ lives together, Dean still refused to talk.

Sammy was the only one who didn't remember the darkness that engulfed them. He didn't remember the fire on his skin, his mother being pinned to the ceiling, or his mother burning to death. He didn't find his father unconscious on the floor and didn't remember his big brother too traumatized to talk. All Sam knew was their semi-happy hunting life. All he could remember was his father being a hero who rode into a battle with holy water and salt. All he ever knew was his big brother who looked out for him and took the time to do anything to make him smile.

That moment, sitting on the hard hospital couch with Dean buried into his side, was the scariest day of his life. John honestly didn't know if they could recover if they lost Sammy.

"Mister Winchester?"

As John stood up, he pulled Dean into a standing position next to him. He gripped his son's shoulders. They needed each other. They needed Sammy just to have a bad case of croup.

"I'm Doctor Walsh. We did some labs on Samuel-"

"Sammy. His name is Sammy," John rambled as he licked his lips. "He's only Samuel when he's done something bad. He didn't - this is my fault. This is all my fault."

"We did some labs on Sammy," the doctor revised with sympathy clouding his face. "We obtained a bacterial culture, a blood culture, and a gram stain of the tracheal secretions. We also did a radiograph of his lateral neck and did a bronchoscopy." The doctor paused for the mumbo jumbo medical talk to process. "He has what is called Bacterial Tracheitis."

"I thought… it was croup. Is this bad?"

"It's very common to confuse it. Bacterial Tracheitis is usually diagnosed when croup treatments fail. It is definitely more dangerous than croup. Sammy went into respiratory distress. This means the airway is obstructed from a purulent membrane that had loosened. It's very similar to a severe asthma attack."

The more John heard, the less he liked it. As the doctor continued to explain what happened, John pulled the boy closer and closer to him until the boy was pushed tightly against his ribcage. If not for Dean standing next to him, John was certain his jelly legs would have him on the floor.

"Sammy's hooked up to some machines and is intubated. He's currently asleep, but you can sit with him if you like."

"What happens now?"

"Once the airway is stabilized, we will feed him a course of antibiotics. Then he should be as good as new."

"What happens if the airway doesn't stabilize, and he can't take the medicine?"

"Very rarely does extubation fail in these situations. If extubation fails or if there's injury to the airway, we will have to perform a Tracheotomy."

_Tracheotomy_? John didn't know a lot of medical terms or procedures, but he knew that Tracheotomy sounded like surgery - a dangerous surgery. Could they even perform surgery on a five-year-old?

"That's surgery?"

"Yes, it's a surgical procedure to open a direct airway through an incision in the trachea."

John led Dean into Sammy's hospital room. The tiny boy was a pasty white against the bed sheets. A tube was taped to his lips. IVs and wires were pinched in his arms right below the elbow and in the back of his hand. John never felt so helpless in his life as he looked at his baby. The boy was usually bouncing off the walls while talking twenty miles a minute. To see him so still and so sick was excruciating.

"Sammy?" whispered Dean.

His oldest broke away from the half-embrace and walked slowly towards his brother. Dean clambered up onto the bed and lay down next to his baby brother, careful not to disturb his brother or the IVs. He buried his face into his little brother's soft brown curls. John walked towards the bed and sat down in the nearest chair. Careful not to disturb the IVs also, he gathered Sam's cold hand into his left. With his right hand, he gently brushed his hair.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," John whispered. "I promise you'll get better."

Neither father nor son knew how long they stayed with Sammy. At some point, Dean had fallen asleep with his face buried in the boy's hair. John, on the other hand, couldn't move let alone sleep. All he could do was stare at his son, willing the boy to wake up, and allow the silent tears of worry pour down his face.

John zoned out. He didn't know exactly when, but he had. He had been staring at Sammy one minute and then heard the kid choking the second minute. Sammy was awake and fighting intubation. Fully alert, John hovered over his youngest son and tried to calm him down while Dean ran to get help.

Two nurses came running into the room and made their way towards the bed. Seconds later, an intern pushed her way through and tried to calm down the hysterical boy.

"You need to calm him down or else we can't extubate," she said sternly.

"Sammy, please, you're all right. I'm right here - Daddy's right here. Come on, Dude, calm down."

When Sammy didn't calm down, when his fit of coughing and tears continued, one of the nurses injected his IV with a clear liquid. The boy twitched slightly before closing his eyes completely. The intern started to explain what happened, but the words were drowned out by the blood pumping loudly in his ears. John sank down in the nearest chair with his head in his hands.

"Sammy's going to be okay, Dad," Dean whispered in his ear.

His small hand found its way onto John's shoulder. Within seconds, John wrapped an arm around his son's waist and pulled the boy as close to him as humanly possible. He buried his face into Dean's dirty blonde hair and took in the boy's scent - that of a sterile hospital and baby shampoo.

"Yeah, he's gonna be fine," John said mostly to convince himself. "Sammy's a real trooper. Us Winchesters don't go down without one hell of a fight."

A few hours passed and Dean was fast asleep in a hospital chair next to his brother's bed. John stood up as a prickling sensation coursed through his legs. His knees cracked loudly as he took his first step. Quietly, he made his way out of the room and towards the nurse's station. With a weary smirk towards a young nurse, he scored the phone and dialed an all too familiar number.

_"Hello?"_

"Jim, how long would it take you to get to Dubois, Wyoming?"

_"Who is this?"_

John had only known the pastor for a little over four years, but he had hoped the older man would know him by now. Although, the two hunters never seemed to talk on the phone - perhaps that was why Jim didn't recognize the voice.

"It's John," he sighed wearily, "Winchester."

_"What's wrong? Do you have a demon that isn't being expelled because of your terrible Latin?"_

The pastor was jesting, but John didn't feel like bantering with the man, who was quickly becoming his friend. Sammy was in the hospital with a freakin' tube down his throat. There wasn't a speck of energy in him to take the good-natured abuse.

"Sammy's in the hospital. He…" John trailed off as his eyes wandered towards the room where his sons slept. "I need someone to take care of Dean, because I can't give them both my full attention right now."

_"What happened?"_

Concern flooded Jim's voice. When the pastor met the small tragic family, Jim had taken immediately to Sammy Winchester. The little boy who had stuck out his slobber covered hand and screamed, "HI!" to introduce himself. Jim laughed before gathering the saliva-covered hand and smiling broadly at the child.

"Uh, Bacterial Tracheitis."

_"How serious is it?"_

"I don't know." He sighed wearily. "Depends on how things progress. Worst case scenario is that he has to have surgery on his throat."

The pastor sucked in a breath of air. Silence filled the line as both hunters' minds wandered to the small child lying in a hospital bed. Then minds wandered to Dean who was staying as close to his tiny brother as possible.

_"What's the best case scenario?"_

"They extubate Sammy successfully and feed him a course of antibiotics. Then, he'll be that hyper kid bouncing off the walls and talking a million miles an hour again."

_"You, Dean, and Sammy are all strong. I have all the faith in the world that Sammy will bounce back quickly from this."_

"I don't think faith has much to do with this, Jim," he said in a thick voice.

_"Faith has everything to do with it, John," _the pastor spoke softly. _"I'll be on the next flight out there."_

John thanked the nurse quickly before making his way back to Sammy's room. The boys were still asleep on the bed when he arrived. Taking his seat next to the bed, John arched his back into the uncomfortable chair and kept a watchful eye on his sons. He tried to push away the anxiety that was quickly filling. He just had to _believe_ Sammy would be all right. If there was a God, then there was no way in hell that the small five-year-old would die after everything the Winchester family had already been through.

* * *

Author's Notes - So, I decided to write a short, perhaps three-five chaptered, story before I finish tackling the huge title piece of the series. I wanted to show the side of the Winchester family that wasn't hunting, that the scariest thing possible wasn't monsters or demons but rather a life-threatening illness. Thanks, again, to Shannon for her wonderful editing job. Leave a little simple to fill my muse. 


	2. A Rose is a Rose

**"Kid Gloves"**

**"Chapter Two: A Rose is a Rose"**

John stayed up the whole night, and he was grateful for his military training that allowed him to do so without slipping in and out of consciousness for small increments of time. Dean rose early in the morning, about nine o'clock. The kid grunted an acknowledgement at his father before changing positions on the bed. Sammy was still asleep due to the course of drugs pumping through his body.

Jim Murphy arrived later in the morning. He walked in just after eleven dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with his white collar peeking out. He took in the scene in front of him with sadness. Dean didn't greet the pastor but instead carefully brushed his brother's hair and whispered something nonsensical in the boy's ear. John gave a curt nod before turning his attention back to Sammy.

"How's he doing?"

"I don't know," John's voice, hoarse and gruff, answered honestly. "They're going to try to extubate him today and take some x-rays of his throat to see if there's any damage."

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the pastor nod his head in understanding. Jim walked towards the small family. Placing a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder, the pastor gave a light squeeze.

"You two need to get some food. I'll stay with Sammy," offered Jim.

"No." John shook his head as his grip on his son's hand tightened. "I'm not leaving him. He'll be scared if he wakes up and finds me gone."

"At least let me take Dean."

Eyes dragging off Sammy, John stared at his oldest. Dean glanced back on his father, a wave of confidence swimming on his childish features. He was positive his father wouldn't force him to leave Sammy's side. Swallowing the lump that was growing in his throat, John nodded weakly before snapping his attention onto the five year old. There was no way in hell that he could stand to watch Dean's heart break at the small gesture.

"_Daddy_."

It took everything within John not to break down right then and there. Dean hadn't called him the childish name since before Mary died. It was always Dad and never Daddy. One hand still carefully clenching Sammy's hand, John covered his eyes and forehead with his free hand. He couldn't take it.

"Go with Pastor Jim and grab a bite to eat," John ordered weakly.

Dean sat up in the hospital bed while looking forlornly at his baby brother intubated and pale against the stark white sheets. His eyes dragged uneasily off his brother to glare at his father. Tears tickled at the corner of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Stubbornly, he forcefully jabbed his fists into his eyes and scrubbed the tears away.

John forced everything inside of him _not_ to look at Dean.

Whines, coaxing, sniffs, and huffs sounded before Jim gently led Dean out of the hospital room. It was just John and the ghost of what used to be Sammy. They sat in deafening silence except for the agonizing beeping that seemed to vibrate ten times louder in the room.

There were so many things John wanted to say to the small child who lay in front of him. The words were those of apologies and tales of Mary. All of the things that John never had the balls to say to his sons itched on his tongue. The things he never told them because he didn't want them to think their dad was a pathetic and broken man instead of the strong and brave guy who fought the horrors of the world.

"Sammy," John whispered very much aware that his voice was on the verge of breaking completely, "I'm so sorry."

His hand found its way to Sammy's pale forehead. He brushed the brown hair away from the kid's brow. It was an action that he'd done more in the last twenty-four hours than in the kid's entire five-year existence. There was an overwhelming need to keep his hands on Sammy at all times and not let go. If he let go, Sammy might just stop breathing or worse.

"I- I know this isn't easy." John leaned back in the uncomfortable chair with his hands still in place. "I know I've made some shit mistakes. I just can't… how could I go back? If Mary… this wouldn't have happened to you if I wasn't so… I'm sorry."

Closing his eyes, John tried to push back the tears and emotions that were crashing through him. He had to be strong for Sammy, for Dean.

"I was setting up our next hunt, you know, and my mind was elsewhere. I thought…" John sniffed and felt trails of hot wetness rolling down his cheeks. "Dean had croup when he was a kid. It was exactly the same, so I- I thought you had croup. I was so freakin' wrong, and for that I'm sorry, Sammy."

He could taste salt in the corners of his mouth. Blinking, John tried to push back the next wave of tears that were beginning to overtake him. He wasn't much for crying. Hell, if Dean or anyone else were in the room, John would have been able to hold them back. Except, it was just him and a very sick, unconscious Sammy and John didn't have the fight in him to keep his emotions at bay. Once the emotions started, it was hard to turn them off.

"I've thought about it before, you know, about how you and Dean deserve better. I can't be _that_ guy to you two. I can't go back to a nine-to-five job, raise two kids, live in a white-picket fenced house with a dog… I know too much. I couldn't live with myself if I just disregarded what was really out there." Clearing his throat, John's hand left Sammy's forehead to wipe the tears away. "I'm not that guy. It's not my life. It's not… Mary would kill me if she knew how I was raising you boys. She would be pissed as hell, but I can't… I can't not do this and I can't leave you boys."

Taking in a deep breath, John kept his focus on the tiny boy. It felt so good to spill out everything, to just talk about hunting and Mary openly without worrying if his image to Sam and Dean would change dramatically. It mortified John that he could only talk about all of this to his unconscious five-year-old kid.

"I never wanted this life for you two. I never wanted to be that jackass of a father who cared about _anything_ more than my kids. My old man was an ass who didn't give a crap about me. He'd mope around the house all day wallowing in his glory days of the war. He'd gotten hurt over in Poland. His knee got fucked up, and he became this bum who didn't support his family. We lived off welfare checks and odd jobs that my mom would do." Scoffing bitterly, John lowered his gaze to watch the smooth rise and fall of Sammy's chest. "I hate myself for not being there all the time with you and Dean. I hate that I drop you off at Jim's or Bobby's or Caleb's to go hunting. I hate that I care so much about strangers… I hate that I can't stand the thought of another family going through what we went through. I hate that I care so much about hunting."

Raising Sammy's hand to his lips, John lightly kissed the hand before resting it against his cheek. Sammy's hand was soft and chubby against his rough cheek, which now sported a two-day stubble. Sammy's hand was warm after being held all night. John feared his other hand would be freezing cold.

"Sammy, you know I… love you so damn much. I'm not perfect, but I love ya and I'd do anything to protect you. I just hope that's enough, because I can't be _that_ guy who wins father of the year and makes it to every school function. People count on me to save them. If we don't do it, who will? I just… _hope_ one day you'll understand."

Meanwhile, Dean slouched back in the blue plastic chair with a flimsy fry squished between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes glared daggers at the pastor, his jaw tight, and lips clamped like a vise. Dean was madder than hell.

"You're no good to Sammy starved and tired," Jim tried to reason.

"You don't know anything." Dean's voice was hoarse and emotional. "You just walk in here and expect everyone to bow down to your feet. Sammy, Dad, and I were fine without you. Go back to your stupid church."

Dean was the most stubborn, passionate person Jim ever met in his life - next to John Winchester of course. It seemed like all of the components that made John also made Dean. The kid was convinced that his father and his brother could simply not survive without him. The kid believed that they always had to stick together, that their family tree could never break a branch, _again_.

"Your dad needs to take care of Sammy," he said slowly, "and he needs you to take care of yourself."

"I've been taking care of me and Sammy since I was _four_."

Dean was defiant to everyone except John. Dean could be a nice kid who'd clean up after himself, take care of his brother, and crack jokes that would make any adult laugh at the absurd things that came out of a young boy's mouth; but he was plain nasty to people when he thought he was being kept from protecting his family.

"You don't know shit from Shinola," seethed Dean and immediately Jim knew that Bobby Singer was one of the worst influences in the world.

Jim doubted that Dean actually understood the phrase that had rolled off Bobby's tongue so easily over the years. Bobby taught Dean shit, but John had taught Dean bitch. Jim couldn't decide who the worst influence was.

"If you want to help Sammy, then do as you're told."

Threats and commands weren't how Jim Murphy liked to work. With the Winchesters, however, it was often the best policy to follow. Dean, however, really didn't take to commands that weren't barked by his father.

"You're not my uncle or my grandfather and you're sure as hell not my dad. So shut up. _You _don't tell me what to do."

"Do you understand that your behavior isn't the best thing right now? Do you understand that Sammy's very sick, and the last thing anybody in your family needs is you being a brat?"

Dean scoffed as he threw the flattened fry angrily onto his paper plate.

"We were fine without you," spat Dean. "I know how sick Sammy is. He needs me and so does my dad. I don't think _you_ understand how sick he is."

Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, Jim smiled softly at the young boy in front of him. The most difficult thing in the world was dealing with Dean Winchester when he was mad and hurt.

"Look, Dean, your dad needed to take Sam for some x-rays. Nine year olds are not allowed to go there. So, it's best if you take this time to build your strength back, because your dad is going to need to do the same at one point. When he does, you'll need to be your best in order to watch out for Sammy."

Sighing, Dean popped a fry into his mouth and crunched down. Quickly, the boy ate what was in front of him before rushing back to Sammy's room with Jim at his heels.

Upon reaching the hospital room, both Sam and John were gone. Panic coursed through Dean's veins as he worriedly climbed onto the bed and swung his legs over the side.

Half an hour passed. Dean was becoming restless as he stared at the door with wide eyes. Jim sat next to him on the bed but didn't say anything. He figured that the kid needed someone close, just in case.

When they finally arrive, it was only John who entered, looking more haggard and heartbroken than before. He was pale with a red nose and blotchy cheeks. Without a word, he walked towards the bed and scooped Dean up into his arms. The kid only layed helpless in his father's arms unmoving. There was a silent communication that passed through the two Winchesters, and Jim could only guess what had happened.

"There's a tear in his throat," John mumbled into Dean's dirty blonde hair. "They took him into surgery."

They'd somehow found their way to the surgical waiting room where all three men sat apart from each other. John took a lone chair by himself. He was bent over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Dean sat on a couch by himself across from his father, watching the older man's shoulders shake and palms rub his eyes. Jim sat in another chair and kept his gaze on either of the Winchesters at all times.

Dean didn't quite remember how much time had passed before Jim grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the waiting room. John glanced up briefly with face red and blotchy. His head jerked slightly before burying his face into his hands once more.

Walking obediently and mutely behind the pastor, they entered what looked like a chapel. Dean's head snapped towards Jim in confusion. Sammy was being operated on and Jim wanted to sit in a place of worship?

"Sit down," whispered Jim.

They slid into the last row of wooden benches. Jim reached out and grabbed Dean's hand into his.

"Let's pray for Sammy."

"I don't pray," Dean responded automatically.

"Why not?"

The pastor glanced over at the young boy with concern and curiosity. The answer lingered in the air: John Winchester. Jim knew with every fiber of his being that John had inadvertently passed his beliefs to his children.

"If there was a God, my mom wouldn't be dead," he replied in a soft voice.

"God does what he does for a reason."

"So God had a good reason for murdering my mom?" Dean's voice was thick as tears burned the rims of his eyes. "What a sick bastard."

"God doesn't give us more than we can handle, Dean," continued Jim. "Perhaps your purpose in life is to help others. Perhaps you were put on this earth to be a guardian angel to those who could not defend themselves. Look at all the good that your father does, that one day you will do."

"I'd rather have my mom than save stupid strangers." Dean sniffed and refused to look at the pastor. "It's not fair."

"I never said it was fair, Dean, or right. What happened to your mother happened. You can't change that. What you can do is make her proud, Dean. You can save people's lives unselfishly. That, my boy, I think, would make your mom beyond proud."

Slowly, Dean turned his tear-stained face towards the pastor. Wiping furiously at his cheeks, he turned towards the tall statue in the front of the room.

"Do you believe in angels, Pastor Jim?" Dean asked quietly.

"In a sense," he responded as his hand found its way to the back of the boy's neck. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't believe in angels. My mom… she did and she said nothing would ever hurt us because we had angels lookin' out for us. Except, they weren't lookin' out for my mom the day she died."

"I believe that there is a balance for everything. Light and dark. Happy and sad. Good and evil. Demons and angels."

"So you do." It wasn't a question but more of a disappointment.

Jim chuckled softly as he squeezed Dean's neck gently. John had told Jim countless amounts of times not to push his faith on his boys. There were times, however, when Jim felt that the boys needed to hear another perspective on religion besides John's blasphemies.

"I do not believe angels have wings and are surrounded in white light, because demons are not red with horns and pitchforks. I believe that angels are humans who are God's warriors. I believe that your father and every other hunter who saves people is an angel sent by God."

"Dad would beat your ass if he heard you call him an angel," Dean joked weakly as the pastor chuckled.

Reaching up, Dean wiped his nose with the fabric of his shirt. He leaned back into the wooden bench. He thought of Sammy being cut open by strangers and then stitched together again. He wondered if Sammy was awake yet.

"Will you pray with me, Dean? For Sammy's sake?"

Slowly, Dean nodded as the pastor grabbed his hand. Their heads bowed, Jim muttered under his breath. Only for Sammy would Dean even think about succumbing to such a thing as prayer. Dean felt helpless and needed to do something to help his brother.

* * *

Author's Notes - I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. I'm so sorry it took longer than usual to post the second chapter. A group of fellow writers and myself are in the process of making our very own Supernatural season because of the writer's strike. We support the writers but fear we will lose viewers if Supernatural ends in January and doesn't come back until the fall of 2008. Therefore, we are writing a conclusion to season three. The first episode was written by me and is entitled "Brother's Keeper". If you go to my favorite author's page in my profile, you will see an account by the name of SNSIE. All the 'episodes' can be found there. They will premiere every Thursday. Currently, only the premiere is up. This Thursday, you can read a great tale by Kescross who will just blow your socks off.

On another note, thanks to Shannon for editing. I messed up my tenses like mad in this chapter, and she caught them. facepalm I swear whenever I read fanfiction in present tense, I start to write in present tense. Don't forgot to leave a little something sweet.


	3. Thorn in the Flesh

**"Kid Gloves"**

**"Chapter Three: Thorn in the Flesh"**

Somehow, John had slipped into a light sleep in the uncomfortable surgical waiting room. One minute, he was praying to anything that may be out there that Sammy be all right and the next minute he heard his name being called. Sammy's doctor hovered over him with a soft, pitiful smile. It made his insides churn.

"Mister Winchester, the surgery on Sammy went just fine. We repaired the damage to his throat and were able to extubate him successfully. He's on antibiotics now and should be just fine."

Blinking, John nodded his head almost mechanically. A soft smile crossed his face as he looked around the waiting room for Dean. His eldest was nowhere to be found. Slight panic worked its way up in his throat but soon eased. Jim had him.

"Uh, my friend came to help me look after Dean," started John. "Can you have someone look for them and tell them to meet me in Sammy's room?"

"I'll let the nurses' st-"

Before the doctor could even finish his sentence, John was walking fast down the hallway towards where Sam was. Upon entering, he immediately saw the glaring white bandage strapped across the kid's throat. Next, he noticed the tear stains on his rosy cheeks. Then, moving his eyes even farther up, he saw his son's scared hazel eyes staring at the nurse who was speaking in a low tone to him.

"Sammy…"

Sam jerked his head and winced in pain as he did so. More tears escaped his eyes as he reached out frantically for his father. His mouth moved with inaudible words, but John knew exactly what Sammy wanted.

"Hey, Dude, don't try to talk, okay?"

Situating himself on the edge of the bed, John grasped Sammy's hand into his. His free hand found its way onto the kid's mess of curls. He tangled his fingers into the soft, greasy hair. Sammy relaxed slightly but held onto his father's hand in a death grip.

"It's okay, Sammy, I'm here. I won't leave you. I promise."

John was fully aware of the hot tears sliding down his own face but could care less. Sammy was awake and not coughing up a lung. Everything would be fine.

"Why didn't you wait to wake him up? I should have been here," John demanded but refused to look away from his youngest.

"Doctor Walsh wanted to make sure…"

John didn't hear the rest of what the nurse said. Her words were a soft buzz in the overall quiet room. His attention was solely on Sammy as he carefully brushed the smooth hair off the kid's sweaty forehead. The tears stopped pouring, his chest rose and fell evenly. Letting go of Sam's hand, he shifted positions so that he was sitting next to the boy. Lifting his arm, Sammy took the chance to snuggle into his father's side. John could hear him take in a deep whiff of the old leather as his hand gripped his father's t-shirt.

Meanwhile, in the small hospital chapel, Dean sat quietly next to the pastor. He didn't quite understand _why_ they were still there. They had held hands with their eyes closed as Pastor Jim spoke in low tones. When it was over, Jim refused to let go of Dean's hand and didn't open his eyes.

"Pastor Jim," he spoke in a soft tone after at least ten minutes of silence.

"Yes, m'boy?"

"Can we go check on my dad now? I think he needs someone to sit with him even if he doesn't seem like he wants it. 'Cause, Pastor Jim, my dad doesn't like to tell people when he needs somethin' but he likes it if you just sit with him and don't talk."

Dean watched as Jim opened his eyes. The pastor slowly turned to face the small child sitting next to him. A soft smile graced the hunter's face as he nodded slightly.

"That's a stunning observation," he said thoughtfully. "Did John tell you this or did you just pick up on your own?"

The child shrugged as he quickly looked away from the pastor. The statue in the front of the chapel seemed to glow in the dying sunlight. Dean didn't know much about religion, but he knew for certain that the statue was Jesus being crucified. Although, he never really understood what 'crucify' actually was. He had, however, heard the term used before in relation to his father. That fact scared him more than he was willing to admit.

"You and your father seem very close," he spoke gently. "Your father is a very quiet man who keeps to himself most of the time, but I think there are times that he desperately needs someone to be close. So, I think you are right in your assessment. Let's go sit with John and wait this out together."

The pastor slid out of the wooden bench and pulled Dean along with him. The pair walked down the corridors of the hallways, and Dean tried desperately not to look in any of the rooms. He wasn't big on hospitals, never liked them much. The only time he found himself in one of these places was because someone was hurt - namely his father. Now, this dreaded place had claimed Sammy. He didn't like it one bit.

When they reached the surgical waiting room, John was nowhere in sight. Dean panicked as he jerked his hand away from the pastor and started to run down the hallway towards where he thought Sam's room was. The pastor wasn't far behind him as he sternly whispered for the boy to stop running.

Faltering in his steps, he glanced into a room to see his father cradling Sammy in his arms. His little brother was awake and staring at him with large owlish eyes. Slowly, Dean entered the room and noted that John was whispering a story of some sort in Sam's ear.

"Sammy?"

John's words stopped rolling off his tongue as he turned to glance at his oldest. A soft smile graced his unshaven face as he gestured with his head for Dean to come closer. Sammy lifted his head off his father's chest and waved weakly at his brother.

"You doin' okay, Sammy?" he whispered.

Sam shrugged his shoulder and reached out a hand for his brother. Dean clambered onto the bed next to his father and gripped Sammy's hand in his. Wrapping an arm around his oldest, John glanced at the door to see Jim leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile playing on his face.

"Hey, Dean, Sammy can't talk because of the surgery, but he's having a great time listening to my pathetic stories. Why don't you tell him something fun while I talk to Pastor Jim, okay? I'll be right back."

Dean nodded and held his arms open for the small child. Sammy crawled off his father's lap and into his brother's waiting arms. His joints cracked loudly as John stood up and ambled towards the door. He glanced back one last time at the boys before motioning Jim to follow him out into the hallway. John pulled the door shut behind him and leaned up against it. A long sigh escape his lips.

"Sammy's going to be all right then?"

"He'll be fine. He won't be able to talk for awhile which, I hate to say it, will actually allow me to think for once." John forced out a deep laugh. "Nah, I'll miss the squirt's fifty questions a day."

"John, what's going on? It's not like you _not_ to notice when one of the boy's are sick like this."

He couldn't meet the pastor's eye, so he looked down at his hands instead. The wedding band on his finger felt cold against his flesh. A lump formed in his throat as he tried to keep his emotions at bay. Unconsciously, he started to twist the band on his finger. The small action always made him feel like Mary was near, that she was there with him when he needed her to be.

"I dismissed it," he spoke quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought it was croup, because Dean had croup before. It was the same, Jim, I swear. I thought it'd go away, and I was making plans to drop the boys off with you or someone. I found a case that I wanted to go on more than anything. I let it… I let this job consume me."

"What was the case?"

"S'not important now. Nothing is more important than those boys, and I forgot that."

"John, you're a good father. You are also a good man, a good friend, and a good hunter. Tell me what's going on. I can help you, John, just let me. You're my best friend, you know that, and you can tell me anything."

His gaze slowly rose until he was looking at his friend square in the eye. The pastor was an optimist and too soft. Jim saw the good in people, even in the worst of people. He believed in second chances and grand miracles. He was the antithesis of John in every way, shape, and form. There was no one, however, that he trusted more.

"There was a nursery fire. The parents both died. A ten year old got his two younger siblings out of the house alive. The baby who was in the nursery was six months old that night."

"You're thinking this is the same thing that killed Mary?"

"No, I know it is."

"It could be a coincidence. Fires happen all the time."

"Sammy was six months old that night."

Jim looked at his friend with concern shining in his eyes. John could tell by the look of pity that he didn't believe a word of it. Coincidence, sure it could happen. This, however, couldn't be a coincidence. John adamantly refused to believe it.

"Saginaw, Michigan. Maxwell Miller was six months old when a fire burst to life in his nursery. His mother was killed. That was back in '83… two months before Mary. Guthrie, Oklahoma. Andrew Gallagher was six months old when a fire killed his mom in his nursery. That was also back in '83 also… about a month after Mary." John paused as he gathered his thoughts. "I've found seven total deaths this way since '83 until now. I haven't even looked before '83 yet, because I don't know if I want to find out how many others suffered through this."

The pastor was rendered speechless as he stared at his friend. They had both seen the unexplainable but this topped the cake. John wanted nothing more to hunt down the son-of-a-bitch that killed Mary, but he couldn't bear if he lost his sons in the process. His obsession led to Sammy nearly dying.

"Where did it happen?"

"Mesa, Arizona."

"I'll send Caleb down there and check it out. You stay with Dean and Sammy."

"I wasn't planning on leaving them," snapped John.

"John, I know that."

"No, I don't think you do because you accused me of wanting to leave," John spoke in a hurt tone. "You honestly think that I would leave these boys when Sammy just got out of surgery and when Dean doesn't know what to do with himself? Jesus Christ, Jim, you know me better than that."

The pastor looked slightly taken aback but didn't say anything. Unlike John, Jim knew when to let something go and follow the flow of things. Running a hand along his face, John let out another deep sigh.

"'M sorry," he whispered. "I just… this is all too much. This _thing_ being so damn close and Sammy almost…"

"'Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,'" Jim quoted. "You're doing the best that you can with what you have. Dean and Sammy are very lucky to have you as a father."

"Really? Because, right now, I'm shameful that they have to have this sorry excuse for a father. Croup, Jim… I couldn't have been more off. This could have been deadly. I could have killed my youngest son."

"Mistakes happen-"

"Not to _me_. I always have my head in the game. I always have all the outcomes set out in my mind. I always know what to do." John paused as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I can go into battle and know exactly what to expect. I can fix a car like MacGyver. I can put together patterns to hunt down evil sons-of-bitches. I'm lost when it comes to taking care of two small children. I'm fucking lost, Jim, and I don't like it. You understand what I'm saying? I may be lost, but I would never leave them. So don't suggest that I would ever again."

"I _know_, John. I'll go get in touch with Caleb."

John watched as the pastor walked towards the nurses' station without another word. If there was anyone who could pick up a trail, it was Caleb Lyons. The guy was the best tracker that John had ever come across.

Turning around, John re-entered the hospital room to see Sammy fast asleep against his brother's chest. Dean sat wide-awake his one arm slung protectively around the smaller boy and the other playing with the kid's hair. Upon John's entrance, green eyes snapped towards him.

"How's he doing?" questioned John as he sat down in the nearest chair.

"Okay," Dean replied softly.

"I was thinkin' that, uh, once Sammy's released, the three of us could have a little vacation. I'm thinking some cabin in the woods where we can just relax until Sammy's all better. Sound good?"

"Yeah… I think Sammy would like that."

John nodded his head as he leaned back into the uncomfortable chair. His eyes felt heavy as they slowly started to close. Everything was all right. He could rest his eyes for a couple hours and the boys would be fine. Crossing his arms over his chest, John let the sleep overtake him. The boys were fine.

* * *

Author's Notes - I'm terribly sorry it's taken me so long to update. I hope that this never happens again. Everything's been a little hectic, so I took out the time to actually sit down and plot out the entire The Dark Horse series. I know where I'm going, and all stories from here on out will have meaning. Not that the stories before don't have meaning, but the upcoming stories will very much focus on the mythology that I've crafted. The mythology does fit in with the show nicely enough. I'm really excited about it and I hope you are too. 

This isn't the last chapter. There's an epilogue still to come. Also, special thanks to Shannon who edited for me. Any mistakes left are all me because sometimes I do have trouble following directions.


	4. Kid Gloves

**"Kid Gloves"**

**"Chapter Four: Kid Gloves"**

Sammy was released from the hospital in two days with specific instructions on what he could and couldn't eat, when he should start to try to talk again, and how to be supportive. John never felt more nervous in his life that he was somehow going to screw up the care of Sammy. Never before had either of the boys been so hurt. The most drastic thing to happen to the boys before was when Dean sliced his palm open on broke glass. Blood had been everywhere and he needed several stitches. Surgery on one of his boys, however, made John sick to his stomach.

Jim insisted that the small nomadic family stay in Blue Earth until Sammy could eat solids and talk again. John, on the other hand, really didn't feel like paying his due by going to mass every Sunday just to have homemade food and a warm house. He'd rather camp out in a secluded backwoods cabin where they'd survive off ice cream and soup for a couple weeks.

When John declined the offer, Jim then made another one. He would stay with them in their cabin - or wherever they were planning on staying. Jim's reasoning was the fact that John could burn water like no one else in the world. It was a fair argument. He had never learned to cook and never really felt like trying. The very prospect of a toaster confused him. Somehow, the bread always came out black despite what setting the damn thing was on.

John didn't feel like just waiting in any old state with his boys. Instead, he packed them up and moved them to Lincoln, Nebraska where they crashed at Caleb Lyons' house. They weren't really supposed to be there, but John wanted to meet with Caleb as soon as he returned from Mesa with news on the nursery fire.

It was a small house, one that John had only visited once before. John settled the boys in the master bedroom and offered Jim the cramped guest room. He took the couch. John didn't know Caleb all that well. They had only spoken a handful of times before. Jim knew him though, knew him longer than he had known John.

The kid was ten years younger than John was and a damn good hunter to boot. Apparently, when he was just a teenager, his brother was killed by something supernatural. Then, in a hunting fervor, Caleb's old man sent him off to a military boarding school to learn to defend himself… or something to that effect. John never really cared to ask. After graduating, the kid broke into the hunting world and started an underground arms dealership.

They stayed at Caleb's for two days living off a liquid diet. On the third day, Caleb entered his house looking less than thrilled at having two small children sprawled across his couch watching cartoons. Dropping his bag on the floor, he walked towards the Winchester children with a frown on his face.

"So help me, if you've broken anything, I will freakin' end you," he said sternly as he leaned over the back of the couch.

"Didn't break anything," Dean replied with a smirk. "We did find some magazines under your bed though with naked girls in them."

"I'm an adult, Dude. I'm allowed to have naked chick magazines."

"Can I score a couple?"

John watched the exchange between the boys and waited for Caleb's answer. The kid got a grin on his face as he climbed over the back of the couch to sit down next to Sam and Dean.

"You're like six, Kid."

"I'm nine," he replied in annoyance.

"Whatever. I don't see anything wrong with you wanting to explore your manly self. I'll give you April's issue of last year. Jesus Christ, that was one of the best issues."

"Caleb!" snapped John.

The younger hunter glanced towards the doorway that led to the kitchen to see John Winchester in a state of disbelief. The older man ambled into the living room and sank down into the nearest armchair.

"You will not give my nine year old porn."

"Uh, Johnny, he's already looked at it. Why not indulge him a bit? It's not like you don't do it, you know," reasoned Caleb as he glanced down at the boys and took in the white bandage across Sam's neck. "What the hell happened to you, Little Fella?"

"Sammy had surgery," Dean supplied. "He can't talk."

"Bummer."

John leaned forward suddenly realizing that the boys had only met Caleb on two occasions before. Instead of being withdrawn like usual, Dean seemed more than willing to be animated. Perhaps the joy of Sammy being all right was still coursing through his veins. Or, perhaps, Sam not being able to be his talkative self had Dean feeling the need to emulate him. It was weird whatever it was

"Dean and Sammy," John supplied the names, "this is Caleb Lyons. You remember him?"

"Right, I vaguely remember their names. How old is the squirt? Three?"

"He's five," snapped Dean. "Don't you know anything?"

"Po-tay-to. Po-tah-to." Caleb turned his attention to John. "Since when did I give you permission to use my house as a freakin' hotel?"

"It's more like a cheap motel if I do say so myself," replied John with a shit-eating smirk.

Before Caleb had a time to reply with a smartass remark, Jim Murphy walked into the living room. He took his position of standing next to the chair where John was seated. He greeted the younger hunter politely and gave his sincerest apologies for intruding.

"What did you find in Mesa?" questioned John as both boys focused their attention back on the television.

"Well, going in completely blind with no Intel whatsoever, I found residue of sulfur at the burn site. Other than that, some seriously freaked out kids."

John sighed as he turned his attention onto Jim. They shared a knowing look - a demon was at play. The pastor had suggested the notion since their first meeting five years previous. It had made the most sense considering the situation. Caleb didn't miss the looks the older hunters shot at each other.

"Care to let me in on your secret discussion?" snapped Caleb.

"No," replied John coolly, "you're twenty, Dude. You work for us and not the other way around."

"I'm twenty-four, jackass, and I don't work for nobody. I did Jim a favor, and I would like to be let in on the know-how if I'm risking my life on a hunt for you two."

"You didn't risk your life," retorted John, "you did some simple investigating. Don't be a drama queen about it."

"I think we should take this in the kitchen," Jim suggested.

John and Caleb followed the pastor's eyes to the two boys sitting on the couch. Dean watched the interaction with a mixture of confusion and interest. Sammy had snuggled up into his brother's side as he cautiously watched the adults bicker back and forth.

With a nod, John pushed his weight out of the chair and made to the kitchen with Jim and Caleb in tow. Once in the kitchen, John took a seat at the small rickety table. He laced his fingers together and propped his elbows up on the table. Caleb sat down across from John while Jim took the head of the table.

"You two are stubborn and bullheaded," Jim confessed. "John, Caleb, you both only seem to put your trust in me in a rather unwavering sense. I think it's time that you two share your stories with one another and trust each other."

"No," John replied simply.

"Jonathan, listen to me for a moment, will you? I cannot help you track down this demon on my own. Out of everyone I know, Caleb is the only one next to you and Missouri that I trust completely. You both can benefit from one another. You both say you trust me with your lives, your secrets, so trust me now. Trust each other."

Jim had a way of making even the most trying experiences sound not so bad. They could be in the middle of a war, being bombarded by bombs from all sides, and John was convinced that Jim could make the situation not seem as bad as it is. Jim had a way with words that made even the most bullheaded person spill out the secrets they've longed kept from everyone. John hated Jim sometimes.

"Fine," John said through clenched teeth.

"Whatever," Caleb said flippantly.

"Caleb, why don't you go first?" pressed the pastor. "Then John will go."

"My brother was possessed by a demon. He nearly killed my family. Bobby Singer was hunting the demon and busted down the door in the knick of time." Caleb paused as he glanced up at John. "My family just about lost it because Dominic was the golden boy of the family. My dad pulled a few strings and sent my ass off to Valley Forge to learn to protect myself. He divorced my mom and left to spend a life hunting for demons. I attended Valley Forge for a little over a year before I dropped out and started hunting. End of my sob story."

"John," the pastor spoke quietly.

"We think a demon killed my wife. I heard her scream in Sammy's nursery. She was…" John trailed off to collect his thoughts. "She died. A fire burst to life. The boys and I just barely got out alive. I met Missouri who sent me to Jim and I started hunting."

"Whoa wait," Caleb held up a hand, "what the fuck?"

"Caleb, there are small children just in the next room," Jim hissed.

The younger hunter snorted and shot a pointed look in John's direction. John sneered back at the kid before turning his attention onto the pastor.

"So this demon gets its jollies off trying to kill infants?"

"We don't know," replied Jim carefully. "John and I haven't figured this out quite yet."

Leaning back until the chair was resting on only its back legs, Caleb let out a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his short strawberry-blonde hair and focused his attention onto John.

"What do you think, Johnny?"

"I think this demon is one sick sonofabitch and I want to kill it."

"I thought you couldn't kill demons. I thought you could only exorcise them back to Hell."

The younger hunters' eyes snapped towards Jim as though he held all the answers in the world. The pastor looked slightly taken aback by the sudden amount of faith shot his way.

"There are legends of a gun and a knife that can kill demons. Certain occult objects can trap a demon's essence. I don't know where to find any of these things," Jim spoke slowly.

"The Colt? Not that again," John said with a chuckle. "Elkins is a crazy bastard."

"Whoa, Elkins never told me any story about a Colt," interrupted Caleb. "Is it real? Does it exist?"

"It's said that Samuel Colt made a special gun that could kill anything supernatural. It is rumored the Colt is out there somewhere with only six bullets remaining. It's a legend as great as King Arthur or the Trojan War," explained Jim. "Samuel Colt was a known hunter. His journal was discovered, copied, handed out as though it were an instruction guide."

"You have a copy of this?" questioned John.

"Daniel was able to scrounge up a copy for me. It's in the basement of the church with my arsenal."

"Did he say he made a demon killing gun?" John asked.

"There was no mention of the gun. There were multiple references to churches he built, iron railways, things such as that. Never once did he mention the Colt."

"There's your answer, Kid," John addressed Caleb.

Resting his hands on the wooden table, John pushed himself out of the kitchen chair and made his way towards the living room. Sammy was curled up in a ball. He was leaning against Dean, half of his face buried into the older boy's side. Dean lounged on the couch, his arm wrapped protectively around the small body next to him.

John walked across the room and plopped down onto the couch next to Sammy. Reaching out, he carefully brushed the boy's long hair out of his face. The small boy looked over at his father, a weak smile crossing his features.

"What are you boys watching?"

"'Magnum, P.I.'," replied Dean. "Hey, Dad, will you grow a mustache like that?"

A chuckle escaped John's lips as his hand rested comfortable on Sam's thigh. Currently, he was clean-shaven. It felt so nice to get rid of the beard and mustache he grew while staying in the hospital with Sammy.

"You think that'll look good on me?"

"Very badass, Dad."

John could feel Sammy shaking next to him, strangled giggling noises escaping through his lips. Dean, on the other hand, shot his father a shit-eating grin.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to pull a fast one over on me," John replied as sternly as he could but failed miserably since a goofy grin was situated on his face.

"Me? Never. I hear this is what all the hunters are gettin' lately."

"You don't think it'll make me look like a Tom Selleck wannabe?"

"Who _doesn't_ want to look like Tom Selleck?" questioned Dean. "My last teacher basically drooled over him. She and this other chick teacher would just gossip about him and Mangum whenever we were takin' tests or in the morning before the bell or when we'd come back from lunch and recess."

"Why, Sammy, I think Dean's jealous of a TV star," joked John. "I can picture it now, you'll be sixteen and donning a Tom Selleck trademark 'stache. Oh, I'll _need_ to make sure I have a camera then."

Sammy jerked up from Dean's side to look at his father. His hazel eyes were dancing with mirth at the very prospect of the whole situation. A wide grin covered his face, dimples showing brightly in his cheeks. It was the first time since Sam had been admitted into the hospital that he looked so damn happy.

"You're a jerk," Dean protested as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You're not 'posed to turn this back on me. _I_ was makin' fun of _you_."

"Well, Dean, I'm too smart to fall for your smartass suggestions. You actually thought I'd crave and grow a mustache like that?"

Dean shrugged, a small smirk working its way onto his face. He glanced down at Sammy before locking eyes with his father.

"I'm sure it would make Sammy's throat heal faster if you did," reasoned Dean.

Groaning, John gazed down at his youngest who was practically bouncing on the couch beside him. His head was slowly nodding up and down. His hands reached out and gripped the fabric of John's shirt as though pleading for him to do so.

"I hate you both," jested John lightheartedly.

"I think Sammy's trying to ask if you will," supplied Dean.

John saw Sammy giving a thumbs up out of the corner of his eye. His kids were brats. They knew exactly how to play him, how to make him cave.

"Fine, I'll grow a Tom Selleck mustache," he said in defeat. "It's not staying for long though!"

He pointed a finger at Dean before lowering his hand down to Sammy. The boys were both smiling, looking rather proud of themselves. Freakin' brats - both of them. And yet, John loved both of them more than anything else in the world. If he could, he would give them anything they asked of him. He would give them the moon and the stars just to see them smile. So, yeah, he'd be embarrassed for a couple days, but it was worth it to see the boys finally happy again.

* * *

Author's Notes - 'Kid Gloves' is officially complete. I really hope you enjoyed the ending. Much thanks to Shannon for editing. Also, don't forget to leave a review. They really feed my muse and never cease to put a smile on my face.

'The Dark Horse' chapter one will be up shortly (as soon as I finish posting this story). So don't forget to check it out. Also, new chapter of 'The Gift Horse' will be up hopefully this weekend or early next week.


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